ens of existence rest,
And like a sea whose surges never cease,
Heaves with its care the weary human breast.

Oh! bright effulgence of th' Eternal Power,
Break the worn band, and wide thy portals roll!
With silent glory flood the solemn hour
When star-eyed slumber welcomes back the soul!

Then shall the spirit sink in rapture down,
Like some rich blossom drunk with noontide's beam,
Or the wild bliss of music, sent to crown
The wakening moment of a midnight dream.

Through all the luminous seas of ether there,
Stirs not a trembling wave, to break the rest;
But fragrance, and the silent sense of prayer,
Charm the eternal slumber of the Blest!

MY FATHER'S GRAVE.

BY S. D. ANDERSON.

It is a sweet and shady spot
Beneath the aged trees,
Where perfumed wild flowers lowly bend
Unto the passing breeze;
And joyous song-birds warble there
Rich music to the sunny air,
And many a golden-tinted beam
Fails on the spot like childhood's dream.

The moss-clad church is standing there,
The stream goes laughing by,
Sending its gurgling music out
Along a summer sky;
The rose has found a dwelling here
Beside the coffin and the bier;
And here the lily rears its head,
Within this _Eden_ of the dead.

The sunlight glances on the scene
With many a sombre hue,
Caught from the cypress near the stream,
Or from the funeral yew;
And, spirit-like, above each stone
Is heard the night-wind's whispered tone,
As if the spirit lingered there,
Enchanted with a scene so fair.

The wild bee revels 'mid the flowers
That climb the ruined wall,
And, gently drooping, shroud the tomb
With Nature's fairest pall;
And dirge-like sings the trickling rill,
At evening's hour when all is still;
Whilst echo answers back again
In mimic notes the plaintive strain.

But moonlight gilds the scene anew,
Now all is hushed and calm;
The very winds seem sunk to rest,
O'erladen with their balm;
The stars, pale watchers of the night,
Look brightly out on such a sight;
Whilst from the hill the bird's low wail
Is wafted on the evening gale.

Be mine the lot, when life's dull day
Has drawn unto a close,
And dreams of Love, and hopes of Fame,
Have sunk to calm repose,
By a